Selene

I was afraid of my father to an extent that his mere presence was enough to chill my frame. I shall not expound on his personality. For the ink is limited and the pages ending. But succinctly, he was a true king. Yes, he was unmerciful and—oh, yes, malignant like the demon that resides in my mind. But a king indeed, for he was true to his word. He never denied help to anyone who—in his thought—deserved it, and never pitied the foul souls who dared commit follies against the Imperial rule. King Tromin, as his court described him, was esteemed and eccentric. Nowhere on the Galman soil will you find a truer king, or a crueller spirit.

But he loved me, to a degree, that might be, by some, described as unhealthy.

And he had and would kill for his eldest daughter, even if it is the love of my life. His intentions were pure, he'd said. His love hadn't withered, he'd said. I was too young to know good and evil, he'd said. And I'd nodded my head strenuously, ensuring him I was alright. And I was. I never wept for Ikàso. For when he left me, the fiend weaved in again. No more was I true and pure. I was devilish. My deeds were malevolent. My mind malign. But still, everything, all my world, had revolved around his mere form. And the sorrow and mourn I held in my heart had never melted through tears. It still clawed at me and pricked jeeringly at my soul.

Felana squeezed my hand once as I, as elegantly as I could in my tensed state of mind, stepped out of the carriage that I and my sister had shared. I gathered up my skirts in my hand, pulling them up so they wouldn't brush past the muddy ground, and waited for Fey to join me. When she was beside me, I offered her my hand, and she took it.

And then soon, our father was standing straight-back in front of us, scrutinising us cautiously, as if looking for any signs of imperfections, an improper demeanour, or injuries and discomfort. I stroked his cheek, urging him to look at me. I smiled appealingly, knowing that if he saw the slightest sign of my current distress, Peter would likely not see light until our wedding. I locked my arm with his and my father's Guard ushered us into the castle. Once inside, he left me and waited.

I watched the gates anxiously and looked back when I felt an elbow prod me.

"Phesine! Zar!" I said, embracing them as one. "Where is Leoma?" I asked my handmaidens, frowning to not find my eldest attendant anywhere. "Oh, is she sick again?"

"Yes, my Princess," Phesine said. I smiled at her calmness. She did not know I had reverted. "But she will be there to attend you on the day of the wedding! Oh, the castle has been preparing for it for a week! It will be grand! Majestic!"

"Indeed," said Zar, smiling.

When Kaios appeared beside me, I asked, "Uncle Malar?"

"He left to find his son. His guards informed him that Srif has found another deck of cards. And a reasonable better."

He rolled his eyes and then quickly backed, being led away by the soldiers on duty. He greeted them as "mates!" and went away.

"Sel," said my sister as she nudged me gingerly.

I turned to see Peter being escorted in, both arms held by my guards. Aviso was following closely. My father's guards formed a semicircle around him, leaving only a small opening for him to see Peter. The men that held him shoved him forward and he clashed—yes, clashed! with my father, nose to chest. Instantly, the captain, Osgar, threw him on the ground, a sword already glinting silver in the moon's shine against his blanched throat. Peter groaned, muttering Narnian curses. Osgar raised his brows at him. As Fey giggled beside me, I only watched my father, his face stern, not a sign of composure. Peter then, still murmuring curses, clumsily stood up and dusted his mud-ridden coat.

He looked Osgar in the eye and the thick circle of spectators watched him apprehensively. "I might be your prisoner, but I am a king." He looked at my father. "And you have no right, Tromin."

"Oh, by the river. Did he just—" Phesine whispered behind me.

"Shush," I said.

Father straightened even more and Peter looked significantly smaller in front of him, especially when surrounded by my father's guards, all almost twice his size. Osgar seized his arms and he thrashed against him. Then, in a frenzied moment, Peter kicked the captain in the knee, and Osgar was sent hurling back. Everyone froze, and Peter, now free, punched the captain, and then kicked his ankle to destabilise him. And Osgar fell. The guards began forward but Aviso told them to stop.

"I said, you have no right," Peter said, looking down at the fallen captain. Then he offered him his hand. I smiled, knight and noble.

But Osgar was anything but noble, he was pugnacious and belligerent and conceited. Offended now, the captain clasped Peter's hand in his and pulled him down with brutal force. And presently, he was standing above the fallen Peter, a booted foot on his back. Peter blew out sand.

"Brutes," he hissed, squirming.

I looked at my father. He nodded at Osgar. And the captain struck Peter's skull with a knife's hilt. The King fell silent.

I shook my head. "Father—"

But he turned. "Take him to the dungeons."

When he was gone, escorted by his Guard and the captain, two guards lifted Peter, flinging his arms around their shoulders. He dropped limply between them. As they began moving, I said, "Wait."

I held up his face in my hands, kissed him once, and said, "Not the ones underground. Please."

The guards nodded and left with the King.

I followed with my attendants and Felana shortly after, leaving the spectators to disperse, ready to spread the word throughout the Western Galma.

My chambers possessed the same lushness and glossy walls, the beguiling charm, and the monotonousness. I stepped in as Zar opened the doors further, giving me a wider view of the space. The bed was undisturbed, but the sofas had been alternated. The mirror with obsidian borders reflected the sea-blue tapestries, depicting the lakes of Southern Galma. The balcony was open and Phesine rushed to close it. My sister came in after me and seemed to have an admiration for the paintings that hung above my bed. They were nothing more than blue lines running along a white canvas. I despised them. But Fey jumped over the bed, Zar and Phesine gasped. I, on the other hand, could not stifle a laugh. It had been years that we laughed heartily and out of joy. She invited me to join her but I politely demurred.

"Cara would have," Felana murmured under her breath but I heard her.

"Cara is dead," I said coldly. And she went quiet.

As Phesine helped me into a thick robe, I sat on the cushioned stool, judging with aversion the dishevelled curls of my hair, the knotted ends, and the tiresome, sunken skin. Understanding my distaste, Zar picked a brush, while Phesine urged me to close my eyes so she could treat my weary and pallid skin. I could hear Fey as she swung her feet to and fro on the bed. I sighed. And Phesine waited until I went still to continue administering Vkhai's juice over my skin, massaging slowly as it sank in.

Stilly, I said, "What is on your mind, dear sister?"

Felana must have jumped up for Zar gasped and I heard the bedsheets rustle against each other, the bed groaning in protest. "I just—Would you—do you think—" She took a deep breath. "Do you really think we can keep him here?"

"Once we're married, of course," I said. "We would be bound by law."

"Galman law," she pointed out. "I don't think his kingdom will—"

"That's enough, Fey," I said calmly, not wanting to disturb Phesine. Felana remained silent for some time. Until she spoke again.

"But he won't even agree to marry you. Without the groom—"

"That's enough!" I roared, startling both of my maidens. They hurried to one corner and stood there, heads bowed humbly, as I addressed my sister. "He doesn't love me. But why should that be a reason that he wouldn't marry me?" Felana's brows knitted together over her eyes. "A man who loves too much is a man weak," I said and turned back.

Zar and Phesine hastily resumed their positions and continued their work.

Felana left.

And almost half an hour had passed when Zar said, "He does have the bluest eyes."

All three of us stilled and I turned to see her flame red and blanch white at the same time. It was meant to be a quiet thought, but the tongue slipped. I turned back; she sighed in extreme relief, and began braiding my hair. Phesine went to fetch my clothes from the wardrobe.

"When Leoma comes back," I told her.

And Zar wept as the braid weaved.

OOOO

Author's note: Well, poor Zar?

Response to P: Things did go far down? Well, there is no one to blame but me, I guess. Your words made me blush hot enough to ignite a match! Thank you so very much for your praises. Really, nothing warms my heart as much.

With love,
~Pacifia